Once again it was hearing that the Nick Cave catalog was coming out, remastered and in 5:1 that caused me to get antsy about upgrading the audio gear to a surround system. Since about 2002 I had been buying multi-channel SACD and DVD-A audio discs, but since I had only a stereo system-a really good one, I should add-I was just able to listen to the two channel versions of some of my favorite classic albums, but never the 5:1 mixes. (In truth, Cave didn’t ask “us,” he asked Sam, who looked all gothy and weird while I looked like what I was, a preppy, 18-year old American kid.Ĭut to December 2009. One night I was exiting the Brixton tube station with my friend Sam when we were accosted by none other than Nick Cave, looking very much worse for wear, who politely asked us if we could direct him to where he could find some smack, please. Today it’s a trendy area, but then it was anything but gentrified, its residents consisting of mostly poor West Indian immigrants, dreadlocked rastas and a small subset of squatters and junkies from all across the globe. True story: For the better part of 1983 and all of 1984, I lived in the south London neighborhood of Brixton. Talk about a dangerous mind, I thought was the baddest motherfucker alive. At the tail end of the post punk era, when once great bands-like the Psychedelic Furs, PiL and Ultravox to name but three-had lost their mojos in disheartening ways, Nick Cave became the standard bearer of intellectual cool in my late teen years.
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